


End and Beginning

by WithoutBringingMeDreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 4x11 fic, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:38:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithoutBringingMeDreams/pseuds/WithoutBringingMeDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4x11 one shot </p>
<p>During/post bar fight from Ian's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	End and Beginning

Blood clouded Ian’s eyes. He couldn’t really see where his fist was going but he felt that satisfying connection of bone and skin, and he knew he’d landed another good punch. He swiped at his face in the second that followed and discovered it was one of Mickey’s uncles. A few other relatives were staggering back, away from the brawl, trying to recoup lost drinks. It was all a fucking game for them.

And it almost was for Ian, too. There was power rushing through his veins, making him soar, making him scream and laugh at any who attempted to take him down. He could do anything right now. He’d destroy anything in his—or Mickey’s—way without a second thought. No one could touch them.

_Are you happy now?_ Yeah, he fucking was. Really fucking happy.

He scanned the room quickly and found Terry and Mickey, still going at it. Terry was looking a little worse for wear though, and Mickey was giving as good as he was getting.

_That’s it. Do it. Beat him. Kill him for what he did to you, to us._

Ian ran back over to them, ready to lend a hand if the tides turned and Terry showed an inkling of the upper hand. Sirens wailed outside, growing closer and closer, and Mickey managed to kick Terry in the head, leaving the man crumpled and momentarily dazed on the floor.

_Finish it!_

But instead Mickey turned and grabbed him by his shirt collar to drag him away. “Ian! Ian! The cops are coming!”

_So what?_ He tried to sidestep Mickey and return to Terry’s prone body. The man was already groaning and trying to stand. In another few seconds he’d be up and they’d have lost the opportunity.

“Listen to me!” Mickey yelled, inches from his face. Some blood and spit escaped Mickey’s mouth and landed on Ian’s lips. For the first time, Ian turned his focus off Terry and saw just how fucked up Mickey really was. Blood poured from his nose, from a cut on his head, maybe even from his fucking teeth.

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian murmured. He blinked a few times through the haze of his own blood. His vision cleared, and so did some of the raw adrenaline that had been fueling him just moments ago. And that fucking scared him…because he needed that.

“Go out the back way, all right? If you stay here they might arrest you too.”

_Arrest? Too?_

“No, no, I’m staying with—”

“Don’t fucking argue with me, Ian! Go right fucking now or I swear to God I’ll punch you in your fucking face!”

Did Mickey have any clue how empty his threats were these days?

“I’m not leaving you.”

The sirens were blaring now. They’d almost reached the bar. The cops would storm in any second and take one look around and then haul off those damn Milkoviches to rot in prison, where they belonged…

Mickey was suddenly knocked to the ground, as Terry had come up behind him. “You fucking faggot! You’re not my fucking son you fucking faggot!”

From his new position on the ground, Mickey kicked up and landed a hit squarely in his father’s balls. Terry dropped to the floor beside him, clutching himself.

Car doors slammed outside, and guests began to scramble for the exit. The police had arrived.

“Go!” Mickey shouted at him, but Ian couldn’t move.

Jail. Mickey’d go to jail. Not Juvee anymore. Jail, with his father screaming out at the top of his lungs about what a faggot his son was. Oh, fuck. Fuck.

Mickey and his father were still struggling, each trying to get a death grip on the other. In between frantic _fuck yous_ Mickey yelled again, but this time, he directed himself to Kev. “Kev! Get him out!”

Kev shook free of his zen-like pose and glanced over at Ian. “Fuck, Ian. Come on.”

Strong arms dragged Ian away, and he didn’t break free of his shock until he was in the hallway by the exit. “No, no. I can’t. I can’t leave him.”

“Getting yourself arrested isn’t gonna do anyone any good,” Kev responded, pushing him onwards. “Just lay low for a few.”

But Ian dug his heels in and grabbed at the wall to halt his progress. “No!”

“Dammit, Ian.” Kev looked over his shoulder, and Ian followed his gaze to catch sight of three cops pulling Mickey and Terry apart. “Then at least go clean up in the bathroom so you don’t look like a fuckin’ part of it.”

“Who is the owner of this establishment?” One of the cops asked.

Kev shoved him through the men’s room door and took off.

 

Inside, Ian was faced with his reflection. His blood-soaked reflection. He looked like a crazed lunatic, his eyes still alit with some of the power he’d felt earlier…but it was quickly fading.

What the fuck had just happened? What had Mickey done? What had he _made_ Mickey do?

All day long Mickey had done nothing but confirm how much he wanted to be with him. But it still hadn’t been enough…not when Ian had to confront the rage always burning inside him—had to _watch_ Mickey fake smiles at his scum father, play the part of husband and new dad, see their happy fucking family picture and be the only one to know what a fucking joke it all was.

He’d wanted to smash that stupid fake family bits, but all he could do was stab Mickey in the heart. And this was the outcome. He was hiding in the restroom, covered in blood, while the man who’d just proven his love ten-fold was about to have one more nail hammered into his fucked-for-life coffin.

Ian stumbled forward and gripped the sink. Air he desperately needed escaped him faster than he could draw it in. He gasped once, twice, three times, but it did no good. He’d fucking die here, in a goddamn men’s toilet, all because he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Shit, you gonna pass out?” Kev’s large hand landed on his back. “You got a concussion?”

Ian blinked up at Kev’s reflection in the mirror. Smooth, unbloodied skin. Worried eyes. Drawn brows.

He didn’t dare let his gaze drift down to the red blur at the bottom of the mirror again.

“Looks like Mickey’s about to get arrested. I owe him some, from this week. And maybe kinda sorta some from last week. We can follow after him and see how much bail’s gonna be.”

_No. No No No._

Stir up a fucking shit storm and then hide in the bathroom while the person he loved paid the price? Was that really the kind of man he was?

With the flicker of anger—this time for himself—reignited, Ian was able to take a breath.

“Ian!” Kev snapped in front of his face. “Man, someone really landed some punches, huh? How many fingers’m I holding up?”

He ducked away from Kev’s hand—besides, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was two or three fingers—and headed for the front of the bar.

“Not sure that’s a good idea!” Kev called after him, but Ian was already out the door.

He’d forgotten his jacket and it was beyond cold out there. His once warm blood began to cool and dry instantly on his skin, but he could still smell the scent of it in the puffs of air forming in front of his face.

Mickey was bent over a cop car, his red spittle staining the snow. His hair was a fucking disaster—who knew how many blows he’d taken to the head—and Terry was hurling insults at him and everyone was gawking and the cop was slamming on handcuffs…

But, strangely enough, Mickey was… _smiling_.

“Guess what we’ve been doing, Daddy? We’ve been fucking! And I take it! He gives it to me good and hard and I fuckin’ like it!”

Ian blinked. But blinking only cleared vision—not hearing.

“I suck his dick! I fuckin’ love it! Fuck you!” Mickey went on.

A few of the girls nearby noticed Ian standing beside them. Their eyes slid to him with knowing smirks.

Suddenly it wasn’t so cold anymore. Heat rushed to Ian’s cheeks and ears and some internal warmth coiled around his heart.

Someone snickered to his right, but he couldn’t fucking care less.

_Admit it, just this once…_

He wasn’t sure it was possible for the pain of that day to ever be fully healed. But it seemed forever ago now, and at the moment all his body had room for was bursting pride. Pride for Mickey, pride for what they’d created together from such uncertain and fucked up beginnings.

The wild anger from earlier and the sinking desperation that had followed it were completely gone now…leaving Ian with a sort of calm he’d only rarely felt in the past few weeks…hell, months.

He’d fix this. He’d talk to the cops. He’d tell them it was Terry. A fucking hate crime. Mickey wouldn’t mind it anymore. Not if he didn’t mind screaming about their love life at the top of his lungs in front of practically everyone he knew.

Mickey wanted to be with him. Forever.

Before Ian had a chance, the cop that had Mickey released him. Maybe for once, the universe was on their side?  The other cops were dispersing, and Terry was stuck in the back of a car, his twisted face still hurling unheard insults as they drove him away.

Ian stuck up his middle finger and made sure Terry could see it for as long as possible. _You lost, motherfucker. I win._

His prize, though, seemed like he’d need a little TLC before he was in top condition again.

Mickey stood still, eyes on the snow below, panting and spitting red onto the sidewalk. Even awash in blood, even with that lost look on his face, he’d never been more beautiful.

“Mickey?” Ian approached him slowly, only because if he didn’t he’d probably grab him and kiss him until they both couldn’t breathe.

Mickey’s eyes flicked up to him for just a moment, then back down to the street, his expression blank.

“C’mon. It’s fucking freezing out here. Let’s go get your coat.” With a tentative hand, Ian reached out and cupped Mickey’s elbow. The rest of the partygoers began to filter back into the bar—he wouldn’t be surprised if the music came on again and they continued their drunken celebration like nothing had happened.

“Yeah.” Mickey took a deep breath and then winced. “Guess that’s fucking done with.”

Ian nodded once as he steered Mickey towards the door.

Yeah, it was done.

But everything else…everything else was just beginning.


End file.
